Edge of Dawn (20 page)

“Lumina will replace it.”

They were back at the SUV. Richard pulled out a handkerchief and wiped his streaming face. It came away bloodstained. “Can't wait to tell my officers about this.”

“Look on the bright side. It'll make some wounded guys and one dead guy in California seem like small potatoes,” Weber offered.

 

Chapter

ELEVEN

R
ICHARD
and Weber rode the elevator to the Lumina penthouse shortly after eleven
P.M.
The effluvia in the enclosed space was half stale man sweat and the rest divided between woodsmoke and gunpowder. Richard could also smell pine sap where it had shellacked his hair. The two men had been taken to Espa
ñ
ola to be interviewed, and it went better than Richard had expected. Turned out Weber knew several of the cops. That connection and Richard's still active badge had kept the questioning cursory and friendly. A doctor had been called and a half inch of hair around his head wound was shaved. Richard winced, more from pained vanity than actual pain. The wound was stitched, and the doctor said they could come out in a week. His hand was cleaned and bandaged. The most comforting thing was the doctor's calm assertion that he wouldn't lose any mobility. He would still be able to play the piano. A few hours later, Jerry had returned with a helicopter and whisked them back to Albuquerque. The pilot had even gotten permission to drop them in the parking lot of the Lumina building.

The doors opened, and new smells overcame their stink. Roasted potatoes and grilled steak. Franz had been busy. There was a crowd in the living room: Pamela, Grenier, Kenzo, Franz, Cross, and Mosi. The little girl was huddled in a corner of the couch, clutching a throw pillow to her chest. The pillow went flying, and she came bouncing off the sofa and rushed up to Richard. He opened his arms, then dropped them awkwardly when no hug followed. She stared intently into his face, then gave one emphatic nod.

He hid his discomfort with a false growled comment, “What are you still doing up?”

“She wouldn't go to bed until she was sure you were all right,” Pamela said, and sighs seemed to hang on every word.

“What the hell happened?” Kenzo demanded.

“Are you okay?” Grenier asked.

“Have you eaten?” Cross asked far too casually and with a covetous glance toward the dining room.

“No, we haven't. And yes, we're starving,” Weber said. “So don't bogart my food!”

“May we shower first?” Richard asked. He was met with a chorus of nos. He decided if they could stand his stink, he could too. They settled at the dining room table. The light from the chandelier glittered in the glass of the buffets and off the china stored inside.

Pamela repeated Kenzo's question. “Okay, what happened?”

Richard kept his eyes down, focused on cutting off another bite of steak. The blood from his preferred rare preparation flowed toward the potatoes. It brought back memories of the blood staining the pavement and his gut-fluttering fear. He set aside his knife and fork, and forced back the nausea that threatened to overcome him.

Franz, watching from the kitchen door, darted forward and snatched up Richard's plate. “I took the liberty of also preparing an egg custard. Perhaps you'd prefer that, sir?” Richard nodded.

“I'll finish that,” Grenier said before Cross could speak up. The homeless god slumped back in his chair. Franz looked at Richard, who nodded his assent. Franz set the plate down in front of the former preacher and took away Grenier's now-empty plate.

Weber gave Richard another look, but when he saw no evidence that Richard was about to speak, he began the tale. Partway through, Mosi abruptly spoke up.

“I got two of them. The others stayed back after that.”

Pamela rounded on Richard. “You gave this child a gun?”

Richard spooned up another bite of custard. “Actually, she had a wrist rocket, and she was damn handy with it. And if guns had been working, and I had one I thought she could safely handle, then yes, Pamela, I would have given her a gun. She had a right to defend herself.”

“You white people act like guns and knives and things are snakes,” Mosi said, scorn evident in every word. “They don't turn in your hand and bite you. My father taught me to shoot, and he said … he said…” The girl's lower lip started to tremble. She abruptly left the table.

“Do you think she's finished?” Cross asked, and glared at Grenier like a dog warning another away from his dish. When no one answered, Cross pulled over the abandoned plate.

“Are you just going to sit there?” Pamela demanded. “Go after her.”

“Sometimes people just want to be left alone,” Richard said.

Franz brought out dessert, a delicate raspberry souffl
é
. Richard found that it went down without too much rebellion from his stomach. He waited until the coffee cups had been emptied a couple of times, and Cross and Grenier had each had thirds on the dessert, then he stood. “Some of us have had a long day.”

“We're meeting tomorrow, correct?” the CFO asked.

“Yes, Kenzo. I'll see you in the morning. Let's say ten.”

They all moved into the living room and one by one said good night to him. Pamela actually kissed his cheek. “Try to get some sleep,” she whispered.

“I don't have an apartment in town any longer,” Weber said. “You got crash space for me here?”

“Of course,” Richard said, and led him to a guest room.

The door to Mosi's room was closed. Richard hesitated outside, then walked on. In the master suite, he stripped out of his clothes and stuffed them into the laundry basket, even the suit coat and slacks. Maybe dry cleaning would pull out the stink. He then stood in the shower, letting the hot water pound on his neck and shoulders. It hurt when the water hit his head, but he needed to get clean. Slowly, tense muscles released.

He went through the bedtime rituals—water pick, toothbrush—and slid into bed. He tried to make a dent in the stack of reports on the bedside table, but it was no use. He couldn't concentrate and he couldn't sleep. Anxiety shivered along his nerves. What if the computers that filled Lumina were compromised? What if they were inside? He touched the hilt of the sword where it rested beneath his pillow. Rising, he put on a bathrobe over his pajamas, and put the hilt in his pocket. He would check on them. No harm in that. Richard pulled a flashlight out of the drawer and flicked it on. The bright halogen glare was a scar in the darkness. He switched it off and put it away. His eyes fell on the candlestick and candle on the dresser. He lit it and stepped out into the hall. Richard recalled that Kenntnis had done this the first night he'd slept at Lumina. So when had Richard become the guardian? And truthfully it wasn't a role he felt he could fill.

He went first to Weber's room. Muffled snores could be heard through the closed door. Clearly the man was all right. But Richard couldn't fight the need to see. To be sure. Richard softly opened the door and stepped into the room. Weber lay on his back, one foot free of the covers and hanging off the side of the twin bed. Richard had slept in this room. He'd fit in the narrow bed better than the big former cop.

Shielding the light of the candle with a cupped hand, Richard stepped closer and studied the square, tanned face. At the acne scars along the jawline, the sharp line where the tan on his neck abruptly stopped and the pale chest began. Richard wanted to touch Weber's tousled brown hair, now tipped with gray. Fortunately, the need to hide the light of the candle made that impossible. Richard backed out of the room.

Next Mosi. She was in the same room where Rhiana had once slept. A shudder ran through him as if somehow Mosi's fate would be the same as Rhiana's.
You humans and your silly superstitions.
Richard could almost hear Kenntnis's deep basso voice and the laughter at the edge of the words. He opened the door to her room and moved quietly to the side of the pretty canopied bed. The candlelight glittered in Mosi's wide-open eyes.

He had to say something. Various responses occurred and were rejected.
Are you all right?
Of course she wasn't all right. Her family had been butchered and she'd been through a terrifying firefight.
Can't sleep?
Duh, obviously.

“I wanted to be sure you were safe.”

“No place is safe. They came into our hogan.”

“They can't come in here,” Richard said.

The arching brows drew sharply together. “Then why are you checking on me?”

“Fair point. I
know
they aren't here, but I worry they might be.”

“That's how I felt about Auntie's computer,” Mosi said. She stared up at him with the neutral expression that looked so alien on a child's face. The silence stretched between them, then she said, “Why did you want me?”

“I want to keep you safe.”

“But you'll want me to do stuff. What do you want me to do?”

“Study.” Richard smiled at the sudden frown on the childish face. “Grow up.”

“When do I get to fight?”

Richard sat down on the edge of the bed. “When you grow up.”

“Why is that always what adults say?” The frown became even fiercer. “And I fought today!”

“You did indeed. And very well too.”

“Will I get a sword?”

“Maybe you'll get the one I use,” Richard said.

“But that would mean you were dead. You don't get to die.”

“I'll try not to. And we are trying to make more swords. Maybe even make it so it's not a sword.”

“That would be good. Swords are kind of stupid when there are guns,” Mosi said authoritatively.

Richard chuckled. “Yes, you're quite right, but this was made a long time ago when people only had swords.” He stood up. “Now go to sleep.”

He started to leave, but Mosi asked, “Where will I go to school?”

“We haven't decided about that yet. Maybe you'll study here with tutors. We've got some time to decide. Now go to sleep.”

“You go to sleep too,” she ordered.

Richard left, shaking his head over this precocious, interesting little person who had entered his life.

*   *   *

The three of them ate breakfast in the dining nook in the aggressively modern kitchen. Franz had sent up a bewildering array of chafing dishes that rested on the island buffet like silver treasure chests. They were filled with eggs, ham, sausage, and bacon, and blueberry pancakes. Sunlight through the bay windows glanced off the flecks of opalescent blue that veined the stone. Mosi was fascinated with the big stainless steel toaster, and she browned nearly half a loaf of bread before Richard called a halt to it. Richard ate a slice of bacon, but then contented himself with a cup of yogurt and berries. Weber dug in cheerfully, heaping his plate with several poached eggs, every variety of meat, and stack of pancakes. Mosi also had a good appetite and did justice to the feast Franz had prepared.

Weber chatted with the little girl and even drew out a few cautious smiles. Richard kept quiet and watched. He felt awkward and uncertain about how to interact with the child. He hadn't had a lot of experience with kids, particularly one from a very different culture. Fortunately, Mosi took the conversational lead.

“What are we going to do today?” she asked in a tone that made it far more of a demand than a query.

“I'm going to show you around Lumina.”

She gave a one-shoulder shrug. “What's to see? It's an office building. And why do you live in an office building? That's weird.”

Richard chuckled. “Well, I guess that's true, but there's something in the basement I think you'll like.”

Mosi jumped up. “I'm done now. Can we go see?”

“
May
we go see.”

“That's what I said.”

Richard shook his head. “Not exactly. The word ‘can' indicates ability. I know you can walk. ‘May' indicates permission. You're asking me if it's okay to go downstairs.”

“Still seems the same to me.”

“It's more polite to say ‘may' when you're asking for something.”

The child was fast losing patience. “Does this, like, matter?”

“In certain circumstances, yes, it matters very much. And yes, we will go in just a minute.” Richard turned to Weber. “What are your plans?”

“Thought I'd say hi to the ex while I'm in town. Catch up with a few folks at the APD. If that's okay? Or do you want me heading back to Kenya right away?”

Not ever
was the rather desperate wish. Richard pushed it away. “Take a few days.” Richard smiled and cringed when he found himself adding, “It's nice having you around.”

Mosi skipped a few steps as they walked through the dining room, living room, and over to the elevator. Richard hit the button for the basement, one level below the parking garage. As they rode down, Mosi leaned against the far wall, hands thrust into her pockets, staring at him.

“What do I call you?”

“Richard's fine.”

“Auntie said you were going to be my guard … guardian.”

“That's right.”

“What's a guardian? What does that mean?”

“I'm going to look out for you.”

A flash of the fear showed. “Protect me?”

“Yes. Always.”

She nodded. The elevator came to rest with a sigh and gentle bounce. Mosi stepped out. She cocked her head, looked up at Richard. “That makes you my
na sha dii.
”

“What does that mean?”

“Protector.”

“I like that. And you can still call me Richard.”

They walked through the blue-tiled archway, and Mosi gasped when she saw the swimming pool. The soft lights in the water cast an aqua hue over the beautiful tilework. The fluted columns supporting the roof and the decorated tiles gave it the feel of a Roman bath. Steam waved in a white pennant over the hot tub.